Bullet With Butterfly Wings
by Desdemona Kakalose
Summary: Two possible endings, two worlds apart. A single bullet, tilted centimeters too far. A boy destined for greatness, and a man destined for the shadows. The beat of a butterfly's wing. How easily do the fates tangle their thread? AU, LxLight, discontinued.
1. The World is a Vampire

Bullet With Butterfly Wings

**Chapter One** -_The World is a Vampire_

**This is a Death Note Parallel reality. A 'What If' senario, if you will. I'm not yet sure if it's a Mystery/Drama or a Horror/Romance...**

**I'd like to welcome all of you to what will hopefully be a compelling read!**

* * *

A single beat of a butterfly's wings can cause a tornado in Arkansas. A single detail, a single grain of rice can tip the scale. One bullet--a butterfly's wings beat a moment too soon.

On that fateful day, a single, insignificant bullet wobbled but a centimeter too far, and slid off the table with a muffled 'clink'. No one noticed. And that same day, one brave, unlucky policeman rushed through the door in a horrified daze with a gun lacking just one shot, just one shot that wobbled a bit too far.

As he slammed the car door, it seemed as though something was off. But he shrugged away the feeling impatiently and cranked the ignition, because the call was coming from his own house. _His_ family, _his_ pregnant wife, _his_ three year old son.

A panicked voice had blared through the speakers, calling someone--anyone--to the Yagami household at the edge of suburbia. The Police force's own Soichiro dashed to the rescue, determined to protect his loved ones.

Megaphones blared and blue lights flashed, as the impetuous father broke through the ring of officers and his own door, alone with his gun out and ready. Shots were fired.

Five shots.

And in the end, the felon (such a big fuss over one theif, it would seem later on) was cornered on eye level with the policeman's revolver. A slight glimmer in his eyes was the only warning before he lunged.

The criminal jumped left and made a break for the kitchen. Soichiro took aim and fired...

But there was no bullet for him to fire.

And the convict kept running, crowing in triumph, into the kitchen. He dashed to the window over the stove and began to climb, foot catching a pot of soup in the process.

As he jerked one leg over the sill, his second leg caught the burner and erupted into flame. In a panic, he fell back over the stovetop and onto the floor, his shirtsleeve now blazing as well.

He stumbled to his feet, mind clouded with fear and pain. Off balance, he tripped his way back to the living room, where his hostages huddled and his potential arrester searched his pockets for the last bullet; the bullet laying on the police office floor.

The woman and child looked on in numb horror as the carpet melted into a foul smelling goo and the curtains he now clutched so desperately erupted into flame. He screamed as the room caught fire and his skin blackened.

Sliding to the floor, he welcomed the cold relief of death.

When he hit the ground, the spell broke and like the startled flutter of a frightened moth's wings, Soichiro snatched up his son and made for the door, wife only seconds behind.

Before they could weave a way through the burning room, a crackle resounded through the house and the door caught fire, blazing along the floor. There was no way out now. With the doors all cut off, the only way out was a small, eternally jammed window.

The parents looked at each other and made a silent descision. There was no way his wife could make it out in her state, and her husband would not leave her behind. Save the son. Save their child. Their boy was in shock, lifted by his mother and father and rushed to the nearest window--too small for an adult, but...

The woman held her son for the final time, tears running down her face, and kissed him goodbye as her husband smashed the window into peices.

"Make us proud," she whispered, and the boy was pushed out of the house as it burst into flame, inferno roaring like a great primal terror. Nature at it's cruelest, reclaiming time borrowed by men.

Three days later, the funeral service barely emptied and the mourning shrouds still hung on that poor child's heart, custody papers were signed. This boy, this Raito Yagami, was shipped far away from home--to the other side of the world, to be tested and tought a whole different life than he was destined for. No longer Raito Yagami.

In England, he would be taken to a newly opened school for genii and stripped of his old life. In England, he would harden his heart. In England, he would learn how to use charm and brilliance to get what he wanted. In England, he would become the greatest detective alive.

But it was in Japan that the butterfly would land again.

* * *

_do carpets melt? _ **asked my beta, and to all those wondering the same thing: Yes. Yes they do. I've seen it happen, and let me tell you, the smell really is atrocious.**

**Alright, so what do you think? This is just the prologue, so the style is quite different from what later chapter will have. For examle, I am a shameless dialogue addict, and there wasn't a quotation mark to be seen in this chapter. **

**So... comments? Critique?**


	2. Sent to Drain

Bullet With Butterfly Wings

**Chapter two**: 'Sent to Drain'

**This is a Death Note Parallel reality. A 'What If' senario, if you will. It's either a Mystery/Drama or a Horror/Romance...**

* * *

_But it was in Japan that the butterfly would land again._

-Some 15 years later-

The hotel room was conservative but comfortable, traditional posh furniture and paintings of no particular cost, but with an air of sophistication. It was clearly meant for the wealthy, but not ostentatious. It was perfectly suited to its current occupant.

"What's new on the list, James?" called the young man from his armchair, crossing his khaki-clad legs.

"Something that might interest you, sir," replied his butler, carrying in the newspaper.

"Oh really? If it's that lawyer with the moustache," the brunette raised a brow, "I already told him I'm not interested in the abduction. The police have things covered."

"No, no, none of that rubbish," the elder man assured him.

James handed the paper to his employer, who sat sipping tea from a china cup. Many a clever man had been thrown for a loop by the incongruity of that scene; a purebred Japanese man sipping Earl Grey Tea and chatting away in an English country drawl. Confusion is never to be dismissed as a psychological weapon.

"Well then, what have you got for me?" he inquired politely, not expecting much. He took far fewer cases now that he could pick ones which interested him.

"Sir, do you remember that murder case in eastern France, about ten years ago? The one with the peculiar carvings?"

"…Yes, I do." Answered the detective.

The year that he himself had turned seven, there had been a particular news story that reached his ears. Taking and interest in world affairs (already dreaming of a future in detective work), he'd begun to read major newspapers from the near-by countries of Europe. Around the same time he began his new hobby, a curious story had popped up in the headlines of France. A couple killed in their own home, house burned down and bodies desecrated, but not burned themselves. Someone had wanted those corpses found.

Murder was far from uncommon in big cities, but in this case it was certainly strange enough to merit its own article—especially on a slow news week.

The two were lower middle class citizens with no criminal record to speak of, not an ink drop on their papers, and a foster-son to boot. Perfectly normal people living law abiding lives. But one summer's day, unexpected as a rainstorm in the Sahara, firemen were called out to an emergency alarm in their suburban-style neighborhood. There, in front of the burning wreckage, lay the bodies of Claude and Rosetta Loire—battered, bruised and precisely mutilated.

The news reported them as having 'J' cut out of their very flesh in a strange script, while along their arms ran 'iniuria' in a simpler font. Their son's body was lost in the fire and wreckage, the flames hot enough to destroy most evidence and the rubble too dangerous to investigate. But maybe that was for the best.

The world wasn't ready to see that sort of damage inflicted on a child.

The two men grimaced in unison, remembering the damage. There was a single relief in the whole incident: those strange wounds were probably inflicted after death.

"I remember," repeated the younger man, slightly disturbed. Beyond the human element, since years of detective work had desensitized him to it, he greatly disliked fire.

"Well," the manservant calmly seated himself on the adjacent couch, "It would seem that he's resurfaced, sir."

"That or a copycat," murmured the young oriental man, zeroing in on the Japanese headlines.

"Spot late for a copycat, don't you think?" the older gentleman poured himself some tea.

"You can't rule out the possibility, James."

"Quite so," he nodded.

"Still," the detective went on, "Japan is far from France, in distance and mentality. The chances of a repeat murderer are indeed high."

He glanced down again and skimmed the details, noting family names and locations for potential research.

"Six previous victims?!" he exclaimed with surprise. "Why hasn't this come to me before?"

"A good number of reasons, sir. Firstly, we've been largely ignoring Asia since the Celebrity case last year. Secondly, the killings are not limited to one country. On the contrary, two victims were from China and another couple from a large city, the kind where two papers aren't enough for all the murder going on. The fact that those bodies were found a week late doesn't help either."

The old man looked anywhere but at the paper. James had an embarrassing superstition concerning news articles and cases—one that, as an Englishman, he wouldn't confess to under torture.

"What about the arson?" the Japanese youth wondered, looking up.

"None sir. Tad strange too, and none of the children hurt either."

His employer raised an eyebrow; an invitation to continue.

"All victims were parents, a couple with adoptees. All fairly normal people, as far as I can see. But it's the carving that really bungle me."

"'Iniuria'," mused the teen, raking a hand through his died brown hair.

"Injustice," finished his companion. "A villain who understands his own villainy, perhaps?"

"Or," guessed the young man, "A villain who fancies himself Justice?"

He picked up the paper again, a rare, sincere grin spreading across his features. An assistant once told him that at times like these, he resembled a wolf: majestic and beautiful one moment, ripping your throat out for dinner the next.

"James, my good man, it's time to make a call."

---

"Lyle!" a high-pitched voice shrieked.

The auburn-haired teen allowed himself a second of wide-eyed shock, before steeling himself to the impending horror. Too fast for his guards to catch, a squealing blond time bomb flew through the door and slammed straight into him at an inhuman speed, throwing the both of them to the floor in a heap.

"Misa," he winced, disentangling himself from her boa-constrictor hold, "What a… surprise…"

Always the gentleman, he stood, brushed himself off and pulled the girl too her feet. Giggling like a stoned high-school student, she threw her fishnet-clad arms around him.

"Lyle! I'm so glad I found you! I've been emailing you for days, but I never get a response. You must be reeeally busy!" she said, rambling in a strongly accented English.

"Yes. I, ah…." He glanced around the room, searching for an escape, "...took a new case in Japan, so I've been preparing things for departure."

"Japan!?" the woman's eyes sparkled, "You haven't been there since we met! Oh, this will be fantastic! I'll show you all the coolest places and introduce you to my friends, and we can even go on a _date_…" she sighed happily.

"Misa," he reprimanded, "I'm going purely for business. There won't be time for dates."

Lyle pried her off himself carefully for the second time, and sat them both down on the sofa. James shuffled into the room inconspicuously, angling for an earful of the conversation.

"And I know you want me to be a good boyfriend, but I'm just too busy right now." She usually bought that excuse, "I've got a better world to create and justice to defend."

"Oh Lyle," she groaned, propping her knee-high 'monster' boots on the coffee table, "You know I love your dedication, and I'm _totally_ behind you all the way, but when are you gonna have time for _us_?"

"Soon, Misa," he promised, making a disgusted noise in his head.

The detective had thought long and hard about the situation; he'd thought of countless scenarios where he'd finally be able to break it off with his self-proclaimed girlfriend. The blonde was a perfect example of an air-headed professional model, a la Zoolander (not that she'd understand the reference, being one-hundred percent Japanese), and decidedly gaga over him. The combination resulted in the same ending no matter which plan he devised:

She couldn't take the hint.

Even a straight out: "We're breaking up" was met with a cheerful "You need time to yourself? Okay, I'll call you in a week!"

Lyle disliked messing with emotions, but the girl left him little choice. And in her defense, she wasn't always such a ditz. Not to mention her excellent connections and talents, which she so generously shared with him. He could only hope that one day she'd get tired of waiting and find a new man to latch onto..

"Alright boyfriend, if you say so. I'll see you in Japan, okay? Don't call me, I'll call you! Love you!" she called over her shoulder, rushing past the still dazed bodyguards.

"In like tsunami, out like a whirlwind, eh sir?" chuckled the manservant.

"Agh…" groaned the detective. "Why did I ever approach her in the first place?"

"The celebrity murder case last year required an inside view," he replied quite seriously, "And miss Amane was more than willing to assist."

Lyle smiled at the memory of that trial. Victory was indeed sweet, and his ruthless performance had struck fear into the hearts of criminals worldwide. Unlike his teachers, this detective relied heavily on his charisma and acting skill for all aspects of the job. Disguises were used profusely—something that Misa Amane had proved invaluable with--a true costuming genius.

Thoughts of her masking abilities brought him full circle to the night that she appeared on his hotel room door, offering to help with the case—among other things…

"James," he started, "How does she keep finding my hotel?"

--0--

Darkness spread over the house as the man rose unsteadily to his feet. His face was impassive, and for all his beating heart, he was as lifeless as the corpses laid out in front of him.

Careful not to touch a drop of blood, the man tossed his knife into their sink and turned on the water, knob twisted to scalding hot.

"Not long now," he mused in a dull conversational tone, "He will get the message soon, hmm Shinigami-san?"

"Won't that be interesting…" chuckled the shadow.

And the moon pouring through the kitchen window lit them both an eerie cobalt blue.


	3. Secret Destroyers

**Bullet with Butterfly Wings-** 'Secret Destroyers'

**Death Note's 'what if' situation. Here, we enter the portion of this story I have dubbed the 'Investigation Arc', because I am lame that way.**

* * *

"Hello Mrs. Hsu, may I come in?" asked the detective in fluent Mandarin. Lyle's flight to Japan had taken a short stop in China, and it looked like a perfect opportunity to get some investigation time in.

"Uh, certainly," the woman flung the door wide open and ushered in her handsome guest. "Have you eaten?"

"I have. Quite well, in fact." He directed a major wattage smile at his host, and she nearly melted. "As I mentioned on the phone, I'm looking into the murder of Mrs. And Mr. Fah. Can you tell me anything? The smallest details can often crack a case."

"Oh, yes," she assured him. "Where to begin... well, Shang now, he was what you call a _man's man_, not a sensitive guy. I never felt like he much cared for his kid, but then, that's just one old woman's opinion. He never seemed fond of anyone, period."

"Who's taking care of the child now?" Lyle asked.

"Oh, his old man's folks," she waved the question aside. "Family had a bit of a falling out over how to raise the kid. From what I can tell, he's probably better off with his aunt and uncle anyways, ignoring the murder issue."

The detective could tell that she was the sort of woman who stockpiled information for just such moments, a useful type. And the way she wasted no time on sentimentality for people who couldn't appreciate it (the dead) was a check in Lyle's plus column.

"And why is that?" he inquired, interest piqued.

"Well, between you and me," she whispered conspiratorially, "I never did approve of that man's idea of discipline. I've seen more bruises on that child than I care to count. Inexcusable, if you ask me."

"And as his school teacher, you'd attest to that in court?"

"Surely would." She narrowed her dark brown eyes, "You won't make me, will you?"

"Certainly not, Ma'am." The young man patted her hand reassuringly, "I just wanted to be sure."

--

The detective sat in a brightly colored kitchen beside a different Chinese woman, this one in her late thirties. Her nephew shuffled into the room, eyes flickering nervously and dark with suspicion.

The house lacked that sense of sadness a mourning home usually had, but offered plenty to spare of the jittery feeling a visiting police officer inspired. Misa's cop costume was working flawlessly, as usual. Lyle looked the epitome of authority. He was also breaking at least one law being here like this, so this meeting had to be a fast one.

"So Jin," started the disguised detective, "What can you tell me about your parents murder?"

"First, I can tell you it wasn't murder," replied the teen with fire in his voice, "It was nothing less than karma. Those two… my _parents_, they got exactly what they deserved."

"Watch your mouth young man!" the older lady exclaimed, partly horrified that her nephew might say something accidentally incriminating. "That's no way to talk about the people who raised you."

"Fine," he sulked, his blazing attitude doused, "But I'll tell you this…."

Jin beckoned the Japanese man closer.

"I'm just glad we got out of that before my sister got any older."

--

Lyle sat in the back of his limo, with the tinted windows casting everything within a light vermilion. The detective always had a soft spot for red, especially when he needed to think seriously.

Tiredly, he bent his head back and rested it on the seat.

"Oh, haven't you just gone tipped everything on its ear," he muttered aloud, addressing his absent enemy. "I've caught the connection between you and your victims, J."

The public had finally given into its need for catchy titles and nicknames, thus sticking the Carving Villain with a one-letter moniker, its origin found in the signature on those many victims. 'J' for justice, he assumed.

"You certainly don't make things easy, do you?" he continued, safe from eavesdroppers in his rumbling, lengthy car. "The moral ground is tenuous at best. And no one can seem to find the murder weapon… did you take it with you? You didn't even leave prints."

He sighed quietly as the limo turned a sharp corner and a bottle to his left sloshed dangerously, uncorked. Wasn't everything uncorked these days?

"A traveling man is always harder to catch. I honestly feel like I'm chasing a murderous vagabond… oh, but that would be too easy, and disappointing too. No matter, I'll get my hands on you in the end. And I'll bring you to _true_ justice."

Lyle lifted his head and reached for his glass of wine, shimmering a darker burgundy than any crime scene. He was tired, yes, but he wouldn't sleep yet.

"Hey J," he grinned cruelly and raised his glass as if in a toast, "You know, I _am_ Light, and around these parts, I _am_ the law."

—0—

Misa lounged in her hotel room, striped stockings and corset lending the whole affair an air of 'Dracula meets the Playboy Bunny'.

"Oh yeah, me and Light are real close," she was giggling, "But I'm not s'posed to tell you anything else, 'cause he's… um… it's not 'inconspicuous'…"

"Incognito?" offered the reporter, who was trying desperately to keep his eyes off her small, but well displayed, chest.

"That's the word!" she grinned ear to ear. "But I can talk about J, I think."

"Okay then." He glanced down at the note pad in his lap. "Are there any leads on his identity? Any major clues?"

"Nope!" Misa chirped happily, "Except that he might be--probably _was_ from France. But we have a motive!"

"A motive." The man repeated dubiously. "A motive but no suspect?"

"Yup. Don't be surprised though. This guy moves around a lot, he's nearly impossible to track. But we think we have a motive, because all the victims had one thing in common: they were parents."

"Parents? That's terrible!" he said, sitting forward in his extremely plush black chair.

"Well you would think so," she consented, snatching the sake off her coffee table, "Except they were all horrible parents. Light looked into it, and all of them were suspects of some kind of abuse. A couple cases were probably even incest."

"Really." The man fought down revulsion, straining to remain objective "So it was… what? J protecting the kids?"

"'S how it looks to me," shrugged the model. "but I can't really support J, 'cause I'm with Light."

"You're 'with' him?" he asked, reporter's instinct pulled to something in her tone.

"Uh-huh. But don't go getting any ideas." The girl waved a finger in is face, "My heart belongs to Lyle."

"Right." He frowned. Lyle was a character no one could seem to get any dirt on—a reporter's nightmare. The man had remained a mystery since he stepped onto the scene a year ago, stubbornly refusing to stick around for any photographers to get a good shot of. The tabloids had taken to calling him _Misa Misa's secret lover_--some taking it as far as a well hidden lesbian tryst.

Personally, the reporter wondered if the man in question had more to do with the Hideki Murder, which happened suspiciously just as Lyle first appeared in that blurred photograph a year before, than it did with forbidden love. Not that anyone had listened to him when he suggested it.

_oh well, _he thought, sighing imperceptibly, _at least they let me take this interview. I was damn lucky not to have already left by the time they got her call._ Being the last one out of the office was finally paying off.

"Now, if I could just get a couple more details on the case, Amane-san? Like what the families thought…."

--0—

"What do you think?" finished the English-raised man.

"I think this is a risky business, sir," his aid promptly answered. "Then again, you rarely see a case through without some fool risk. With all respect sir, you are the stupidest smart man I've ever met."

The detective _was_ a genius, undisputedly, with one of the highest IQs of his generation. So it was understandable that he didn't often ask for advice. More than that, he could count the number of people he respected, let alone _trusted_, on one hand with fingers to spare. James had long since earned his place on that list, dry humor aside, and his opinion was one of the few actually taken into account.

"And why use your real name? That's quite the liability. If you ask me, 'Lyle' was always too close to 'Light', but you aren't even bothering to make it subtle. It could be dangerous…"

"It could be, yes, but I'm spelling it different. And who really knows about my identity? No one's smart enough to put two and two together around here."

The genius was also rather arrogant.

"Nonetheless, 'Kira' would be a much better choice. It has no connection to you, and we've used it before…" the Englishman shrugged helplessly.

"That's exactly it." The young man pointed out, switching to Japanese. "Too many people in the East remember Kira from the Hideki Murder case, not to mention my association with Amane-san."

"If you say so, Yagami-sama," the butler consented, also reverting to the current dialect. "But be careful. There's something strange about this whole scenario… 'I can't put my finger on what lies in store…'"

The detective lapsed into a grim smile. "…'but I feel what's to happen, all happened before'."

--0--

"You told them WHAT?" stormed the detective. "No, never mind. I read the story. Misa, how could you do this?"

"B-but Lyle, I thought it would be okay since you told _me_… and I kept your identity secret…" the blond girl whimpered.

"Use your head Misa! What is the main issue with this case?"

"There's no suspect?" she guessed, sniffling.

"Besides that. I mean on a personal level." He sank into a plush leather chair, suddenly too tired to stand any longer.

"Err… he's killing the bad guys?" Misa ventured again, bewildered.

"Yes. And it didn't occur to you that J might get sympathy points from fanatics? What am I going to do if this turns into another 'Law vs. the Vigilante' case? Everyone hates the police in batman!"

"Batman?" echoed the Japanese girl, doubly confused.

"Yeah, it's an American superhero comic. But that's not the point! Amane, you have, with a single interview, undermined my entire PR campaign."

The model's eyes filled with tears again. "But Lyle— "

"It's Raito now, Misa. We're in Japan and I need a Japanese alias. _Try _to keep that in mind."

"Okay, okay. But I was just trying to help you! All I want is to be a good girlfriend!" She inched closer. "I thought if I told the press some stuff about the case, they'd be impressed with how much you've done in so little time."

The model shot off his couch and tossed her hands in the air, falling into one of those unpredictable mood swings that females were so fond of.

"I mean, I'm sorry but having the World's Greatest Detective as a boyfriend is hard work! It takes a lot out of me trying to keep up with you changing every day, traveling from place to place, and you're always slipping from Lyle to Light to Kira and now _Raito_ and I just don't know how to help! I just want us to be happy…."

Oh no, time for damage control. The blond was dangerously good at working herself into a suicidal frenzy on select occasions, particularly occasions when her boyfriend started to edge out of the picture. Not to mention, he did feel a bit guilty for yelling. That was un-gentlemanly.

"Misa, I want us to be happy too. But you know that can't happen while there's evil in the world. I have a calling, and you said you were willing to wait for a better world," he reminded her. The gothic dressed girl had _such_ a romantic streak, and Detective Light was unparalleled in the field of emotional manipulation, when he tried.

"Yeah," she sighed and returned to the couch, dreamy smile restored. "I did. And I will, as long as it takes. I'd do anything for the man I love… My avenger."


	4. Hold Me Up To the Flame

**Bullet with Butterfly Wings- '**Hold Me Up to the Flame**'**

**Death Note's 'what if' situation. Another character introduced!**

**--**

The crime scene was roped off and well guarded, but the policeman at Lyle's side parted the blockade with ease. He looked only a few years out of college (if he went at all), and his somewhat long hair hung in his averted eyes. The detective easily recognized the posture of a nervous, unfamiliar person.

Cops dressed in navy blue milled about, conversing in low tones with white-clad forensics experts. Their feet hastily avoided splotches of blood on the linoleum floor, and the famous detective _almost_ grimaced.

He never did like the skittish scientists that flitted over these gory locations like maggots on a corpse. It was something of a literalized metaphor, and not a pleasant one. It was almost funny, too, how people who made a living examining cadavers grew so twitchy around crimescenes.

"So what happened to the kid?" he started off, calculating that this particular man would appreciate the small talk more than diving right into the gory details.

"She's staying with her grandmother," the young cop replied, fidgeting a bit. "She's… uh… kinda freaked out at this point. Won't talk to any of the psychologists. Aizawa thinks she's feeling responsible for all this."

"And why is that?" pushed the detective, the second half of his mind filing away points of interest in the house for his investigation. Special notes went into the chalk outlines—how they leaned away from each other, the blood trails around them.

"When they arrived at the scene after her call, she couldn't stop… kept babbling about Shinigami and praying. Creepy stuff, like something out of a horror movie." The policeman shivered, glancing over at his guest.

"Matsuda, right?" asked the investigator. He filed the name away for future reference. "Look, I know this has to be hard on you—it's your first homicide case, right? But don't worry too much. Light's on the case and J _will _be caught."

As they leant against the kitchen table, Lyle—newly christened 'Raito'—rested a comforting hand on the young officer's shoulder.

"I know…. It's just…" Matsuda looked away, out the window and at the birds who flitted by, blissfully ignorant of the carnage within. "Sometimes I wonder if… is J really so wrong? I mean, look at the files. These two were awful!"

"They _were_ awful," agreed the detective tactfully, "but nothing excuses murder. It's just wrong."

"Yeah…" the older man refocused, "I guess I'm being an idealistic idiot again, huh?"

"Idealistic? Yes. But…" Raito could sympathize with his vision, if nothing else. He and this man shared a love of justice, dreams of a better world. "But that's not bad, as long as you don't loose touch with reality."

From the look of sheer gratitude on Matsuda's face, Raito could tell two things: one, there were very few people who believed in this man; and two, Raito Yagami had just gained another loyal follower with his world famous charisma. If there was one thing he believed whole-heartedly, it was that you really _did_ catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

"Matsuda, do you have the body-prints?" that was local slang for photos of the corpse. He picked it up earlier that day, talking to the chief about evidence and jurisdiction.

"Uh, yeah." The law enforcer reached into the folder behind them on the kitchen table. "Here."

Raito took the photographs and held them carefully under the light.

In the same manor that the world had become accustomed to, a gothic 'J' was sliced out of the couple's skin, leaving a bloody well within its lines. The man's left arm held the puzzling 'iniuria', but in a deviation from the norm, his wife's was left bare.

"That's odd," the investigator remarked aloud, running a hand through his hair—a nervous habit of his. He was working on stopping that, as predictability has a way of getting a person _killed_ in his line of work.

"Not nearly as weird as her right arm," noted Matsuda, tapping the next photograph. "You speak Latin, right? Do you know what it means?"

The detective looked at the new image with fascinated horror. He knew better than to show it on his face, but the carvings drew a wide range of reactions from him, most of them paradoxical, the way that they had since the case first appeared.

"'Audivi plutem evocantem'," he read, even more intrigued than he had been, "Loosely translated into Japanese, that's… 'I hear the God of Death when he calls'."

The officer blinked. "Shinigami?"

"Doubt it," answered Raito, barely listening to himself. "The murderer is from France—he wouldn't be versed in Japanese folk lore. And what's more, this is referring to the Roman god of death, Pluto. Hades if you want to go Greek. Classical reference, you know. The strange thing is that 'plutem' isn't capitalized…"

"Right," muttered Matsuda. "Perfect. This is just _great_. One year on the force, and I'm already wrapped up in some foreigner's business."

_Oh, Matsuda, you better get used to it._

--0--

Misa-Misa was hardly recognizable. A flawless black wig covered her trademark blond hair, and the usual blue contact lenses were left at home. A pair of horn-rimmed glasses left her looking as plain and uninteresting as a russet leaf in autumn.

Perfect.

When Raito asked her to go out on spy-duty, she didn't hesitate for a second. Even if it had just been Light asking, instead of her boyfriend-of-many-names (and boy, did she get confused sometimes), she still would have jumped at the chance.

Light was her avenging angel, her savior. Even before she fell head-over-heels in love at first sight with the _man_, she'd been devoted to the _detective_.

The model's life was fit for a Hollywood drama, from her parents' murder to her rise to fame—nothing about her past was ordinary. In her mind, nothing could touch her.

If anything, her sureness had only strengthened over the years, particularly thanks to a single incident…

When Amane Misa was sixteen years-old, a year after her explosion into the presses, she had taken to walking home in the back routs of Osaka, to avoid the crowds.

That particular evening was unusually dark, streets still damp from the afternoon rain reflecting a spatter of orange glow from the streetlights above. As she turned an alley corner, she felt the eyes she'd become accustomed to over the years turn malignant.

In retrospect, Misa had always been one of those odd children that felt perpetually watched. It was nothing particularly scary, but a sort of supernatural audience. In time, the blond had come to think of it as her silent imaginary friend.

Tonight, however, the sensation of being watched felt stronger—oppressive and different from her old invisible guest.

"Hello?" she called out, turning to glimpse a ducking shadow, "Is someone there?"

"…Me…" answered a man's voice from the darkness, masculine and heavy.

"And who is me?" giggled the teen, relaxing. Why be scared? Maybe he was shy!

"I'm your biggest fan!" he answered earnestly, stepping out of the shadows. The streetlight overhead lit his features, and he must have been around thirty-five with wide, wide eyes.

"Oh, that's sweet." She smiled, swinging her Hello Kitty bag from shoulder to shoulder. "Can I help you?"

"I love you!" he burst out, "Please, marry me!"

"Um… I'm flattered, but you're really too old for me." she stepped back, "And I'm not really looking for anyone right now."

"Please!" he begged, moving closer, hands out, "You have to!"

"No, really, I'm fine." She waved him off and shuffled further back. Oh no, her manager had warned her about this kind of fan. She'd never even considered that _she'd_ end up with one.

"You won't have me?" he demanded in distress.

"Well, I wouldn't put it _that_ way…"

"Fine!" he shouted, a strange look darkening his eyes, "If I can't have you, no one will!"

"Eek!"

The man yanked a knife out of his shoe, swaying a bit as he righted himself. Sparing not a second, the man lunged out at his paralyzed victim, teeth skinned back and eyes wild.

Nothing.

Before the blade even glanced her skin, _Something _had intervened_._

The man clutched at his chest, dropped his knife and gasped like a dying man—which, it turned out, he was.

Now, Misa was always the sort of woman who felt like she was being watched. Her invisible partner, as it was. But it was only after that night that she truly began to believe in Gaurdian Angels.

She never did find out who, or Who, was helping her that day, but they eyes were definitely gone. A part of her began to wonder if maybe there was a rule against that kind of miracle…

And if that was the case, what sort of price did her angel pay?

--

The next day came in a burst of sunlight through Raito's window, and a symphony of reporters shrieking in A minor over morning news shows.

His first thought was that he was still disappointed in Misa's lack of results, despite her excellent snooping abilities, even the next morning and the second was that... the phone was ringing. This early?

Detective Light roused himself irritably, amazingly without a _hair_ out of place despite just waking up, and answered the phone.

"Moshimoshi."

"Ah, Light-sama?" inquired a slightly nervous voice, tinny through the old speakers.

"Yes? What is it?" Raito wasting no time with pleasantries, seeing as it was not only an ungodly hour but also surely a call about his case.

The informant said nothing for a moment, as Raito debated whether or not to simply hang up, until he finally spoke--albiet hesitantly. A single sentence.

"_Portimas fabulam sub nostris dermis_, he says."

And with a sinking feeling, the detective knew exactly who 'he' was.


	5. And What Do I Get

**Bullet with Butterfly Wings- **'And What Do I Get'

**Death Note's 'what if' situation. Meet the Suspect.**

**--**

World famous detective Light was stumped.

He'd known from the beginning that this case would be difficult; hell, had he ever picked an easy case? But this was more than 'difficult'- this was absurd!

Misa and a few hand picked underlings had been scouring the town for suspicious characters, particularly foreigners in light of the case's origin, for more than a week now.

The results? Nada.

Logically, it shouldn't be too hard to find a Frenchman (or woman, he supposed, but female serial killers were few and far between) in the heart of Japan, but when you considered the lack of evidence...

"What kind of killer doesn't leave a single clue behind?" wondered the detective aloud, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No prints, no weapon, not a scrap of DNA... no way to test a suspect..."

Of course, if he was honest with himself (and Raito was the only person to regularly receive his own honesty) no other detective would expect more after working on a case for only a _week_ and a half. The problem remained, though, that the whole thing was becoming unsettlingly personal–what with the religious zealots constantly pitting them against each other– personal to the point where he felt himself losing face.

And more than anything else, Raito had always been a sore loser.

"Inconsiderate bastard..." muttered the brunette teen, lying back on the couch of his penthouse suite.

Sunlight filtered in through the stained-glass over his head, and he could see himself cast in red relief through the ornately framed mirror. A bit of personal vanity, yes, but why deny it? He was a damn good looking man, if he did say so himself.

"Can't seem to focus..." he huffed, eyeing his reflection in all its vermilion glory."What I don't get is why the arson element hasn't reappeared..."

Raito had long ago found that talking through a problem was he best way to find a solution–even if no one was listening. _Especially _if no one was listening.

"In the first case, it was as much a defining factor as the wounds. Why would J abandon that?" The detective sighed. "And if it wasn't important, then why would he go that far in the first place? It really served no purpose, besides maybe adding insult to injury..."

The young man allowed himself a smirk at the accidental joke—humor (even the dry kind) was not something he often indulged in–-and froze.

"Now that I think about it, something _did_ happen. The son, the foster son who died in the fire. None of the other children died, in fact, if the motive is what I believe it to be, the dead boy is more than an abnormality–he's completely illogical!" Light slammed a fist into his palm, leaping out of his chair.

Perhaps pacing was a bit cliche at this point, but the Japanese man was always given to dramatics.

"So what if the boy never died? James reported that his body was never found. If I assume for a second that he survived, that would mean... what? He obviously didn't reappear; there would have been a story, an investigation."

Wine colored light sifted in through the windows. Raito halted, gaze drifting to the stained glass with its burgundy apple motif–-a decidedly Western touch in a Japanese hotel, and why he'd chosen the room in the first place.

"So if the son is alive, and never went to the police, that would make him a prime suspect, especially if his home life reflected the victims'." The genius allowed himself a private grin.

The pieces were finally falling into place. He had a good feeling about this lead.

"This calls for a retroactive investigation."

--

J slid through the night like a living shadow, his limbs working with the graceful speed of ink across paper.

His baggy clothes and disheveled hair reminded the few he passed of an American delinquent teen, like the ones they saw in manga or television. The illusion was shattered, though, by his shadowed eyes—ancient and dark.

He only went out at night these days, when the world was shoddily lit and pedestrians were too guilty or worried to take any notice.

"It's so much quieter at night," he remarked in a monotone, pointedly ignoring the old lady who hurriedly stepped into a stoop, waiting for him to pass. "—when I'm the only one in my head."

From his pocket he lifted a bit of paper with two fingers. On closer inspection, it was actually a newspaper clipping he held, folded many times and worn at the creases.

He stopped under a streetlight to read it over again.

"The famous Light, hm? I'm flattered," he droned, "I do wonder how long it will take him..."

The shadowed man almost smiled at the thought. Almost. Really, he never smiled, unless he was acting. And there was still work to be done that night. The screaming was starting back up.

"A side effect of living on the shady side of town, I suppose."

* * *

"Is everyone present for the briefing?" inquired Raito, cool and collected at the head of the table.

"Yes, sir," his butler answered, "All the police you requested have been assembled."

"Excellent. Bring them in."

A new hotel room had been secured, decor of all pale yellows and whites, a short dining table at the center.

The door eased open with the inevitable hesitancy of a first meeting, the four guests slinking in with eyes cast down. One by one, their gaze drifted up to rest on the room's sole occupant.

"Detective _Raito_?" gasped Matsuda, looking like the wind had been knocked out of him.

The investigator suppressed a grin. After their meeting at the crime scene, he had decided to bring the rookie cop into his project, suspecting that it would be a smart move they'd both come to appreciate later. While the man was not the sharpest tack in the box, he exuded an aura of loyalty and earnestly–and the Great Detective Light was never wrong about these things.

"It's good to see you again, Matsuda." the detective selected a charming grin from his arsenal of "First Impression Tools".

The men stood dazed, bombarded by the realization that this boy, not even old enough to buy alcohol in most countries, had been the World's Foremost Detective for the past two years.

"Gentlemen. Allow me to introduce myself," continued the brunette over steepled fingers, "I am a man of wealth, and taste. Yagami Raito, also known as 'Detective Light'. A few of you might even know me as Lyle."

If there were two things this man had a weakness for, it was obscure quotes (preferably from American and English pop culture. How delightfully _crude_) and recognition. Always chafing at him was the fact that he could never receive praise under his _own_ name. Maybe some day...

"'Yagami'?" repeated the man Raito identified as Aizawa, visibly shaking off his previous shock. "'Raito'?"

"Yes," the young man answered, thinking something akin to _Good god, please don't tell me I picked a dim one._

"Is there... I know this is a long shot, but... was your father Yagami _Soichiro_?"

"Yes, actually," he said, taken aback. "Did you know him?"

"I did," the policeman replied with a far away look in his eyes. "He was a good man. I only knew him for two years, but everything I have I owe to him. Better father than mine ever was. He'd be proud of what you're doing."

The last words were spoken with conviction, as if the man knew _personally _how strongly his father would have felt.

"Thank you," replied Light, not missing a beat, even though his eyes burned at the thought of his lost father. Never let them see you cry. It's absurd to cry over a man you barely remember.

"But it's no good, dwelling on the past. We're here to discuss the present–and maybe a bit of history."

The detective stood, sliding effortlessly into leadership mode. In return, the four men around his table relaxed now that the burden of personal responsibility was lifted.

"As I assume you were informed, you were hand picked to assist me in the recent 'Carving Murders' case. I've brought you here today so you may receive a rundown of the situation. If you have changed your mind, please leave now."

James strode into the room with folders full of transcripts, reports and photos, passing them out to each member.

"I'm sure you're all aware of the carvings' nature, and we'll return to the Modus Operandi later on. First and foremost, you out to get acquainted with out suspect."

From his own dossier, Raito pulled a single photograph. A blank faced youth with alabaster skin and messy raven hair stared out at them, haunting eyes as dark as ebony.

"Gentlemen, meet L Lawliet."

Expressions around the table ranged from shock to reserved disbelief.

A _kid_? The murderer who threw all of Eastern civilization into a frantic uproar, who sent churches and cults worldwide broadcasting heated debates, was a _child? _

"I know what you're thinking," Light turned the suspect's photograph towards himself, running his gaze over every detail, "But keep in mind, young people have been known to do astounding things."

The detective smiled indulgently, and his guests sunk into their seats a fraction.

"In any case, it's been quite a while since the first crime—he should be about twenty-four by now. But let's go back to the beginning, because that usually the best place to start."

And Raito began to weave a tale in his spellbinding voice, factual but no less entrancing. It began with one ten-year old L Lawliet left alone on an orphanage doorstep, perfectly silent as he waited for the mother nun to unlock those monolithic doors.

According to the records, the boy had spent two years in a French agency, taking test after test. His IQ tests shot straight through the roof and his personality quizzes fluctuated from stereotype to stereotype like a kid with multiple personality disorder.

Notes from his counselor indicated that he never took any test seriously, preferring to toy with his answers to suit the current mood. The results had so boggled his caretakers that he'd been offered a position at Whammy's House. Raito had skirted the details there.

"It's just another orphanage," he'd shrugged, and moved on.

Disappointingly, before L could be placed in his new home, another orphan filled the last opening, and he was knocked back violently into the arms of the system.

It seemed, though, that the system had grown tired of the curious youth, because he was soon passed on to a pair of potential adoptees: Claude and Rosetta Loire.

The couple had a history with that adoption agency, having taken in a girl through them a few years before. That child had passed away from an asthma attack the very same year, and their grief alone was enough to convince social service workers. The twelve-year-old's charge was handed over without a second of hesitation.

Preteens and teens were far less popular with the adopting classes, so the orphanage had jumped at the chance to drop their aging genius.

Details, Raito said, were hazy from there on.

Though his investigation had turned up few clear facts.

Fact one: The condescending boy had been absent from class on a regular basis, and it appeared that he'd caught the same disease a total of four times (the flu), and been in the hospital three times for various injuries.

Fact two: the local busybody had informed them of local rumors—three failed escape attempts. No one had ever gotten a reason as to _why_.

Fact three: he had never been allowed to visit the few friends he _had_, nor had any of his classmates ever seen his house. In fact, it seemed as though his only contact with the world came through school and martial arts lessons.

"All in all," finished the detective, "Whether or not he's guilty of anything, I have a strong suspicion that the Loires are guilty of child cruelty. So we have an original motive, which filters into the current motive: eradication of abusive parents."

"How sure are you?" asked the man Raito remembered as Mogi, "It would be a bad idea to jump to conclusions this early on."

The younger man gave him an appraising look, signaling for James to bring in some tea (English fashion—this _was_ Detective Light's party after all).

"You're right, of course. What we decide today will be the foundation or any further investigation, so we have to be very careful." The brown-haired man reached up to grab a cup of tea, mixing in some cream. No sugar—surprisingly, he couldn't take anything but a bare minimum of sweetness.

"But don't worry, I've done my research thoroughly. If the situation is what you doubt, then I _could_ go into further detail about child abuse and its symptoms…?"

Every man in the room blanched.

"No? Then you'll have to take my word for it. And even beyond that point, do you guys have any better ideas? The case _needs_ a direction." Unhappily, Raito Yagami felt that this ordeal was going to be more like parenthood than investigative leadership.

"Okay, we have a suspect," conceded Aizawa, "Now... what do we know about the weapon? How about the location? Evidence?"

--0--

The debate was raging full force. Close-ups, dramatic zoom-ins, and angle switches—the cameramen were pulling out all the stops. Even the commercials were over-the-top.

The studio was split in half, on either end a man at a courtroom style desk, backed by screaming fanatics.

"Tonight!" The overeager announcer cried from the middle of the floor, "We have two opposing men here to battle it out in our debate segment, on the biggest controversy of our time!"

A half-and-half screen showed faces of both men, desk labels reading 'Mikami Teru' and 'Hedara Ren'. Mikami had thin-rimmed glasses and a fanatic gleam in his eye, where Hedara wore a flat out frothing-at-the-mouth grin.

"Tonight, we'll debate the carving murders in our newest episode: J--Sinner or Saint?"

The crowd burst into frantic cheers—a wild sound like a pack of jackals before feeding

"Mikami! We understand that you're a lawyer? Why don't you go on with an opening argument?"

The suit-clad man grinned viscously. "Of course. Honestly I don't see why there's need for debate, when J is _clearly_ Righteous."

The two crowds erupted into eager cheers and devilish hissing.

"He murders the innocent!" cried Hedara, pointing an accusatory finger.

"He redeems monsters!" shouted the reply.

"J kills human beings!"

"J saves us from men who commit crimes against humanity! The law does no different, but with far less efficiency."

"Laws don't KILL people!"

"They kill murderers, and these demons have done worse than that!" Mikami knocked over his chair and stalked to the center of the room. His opposition did the same, and they met at the middle.

"The law gives people a chance to change."

"And therein lays the problem! People _don't change_ and when people _do_ break the rules, they deserve to be punished—J is more than the law, J is JUSTICE!"

A wild cry went up from the left side, an ear grinding, bestial scream, turning the word 'justice' from a hundred lips into a single, sordid sound.

"And we'll be back after these messages!"

--

And the puzzle is falling into place.


	6. For All My Pain?

**Bullet with Butterfly Wings- **'For All My Pain?'

**Death Note's 'what if' situation. Character development ahead! And lots of Misa.**

**--**

"Ly–Raito, Misa can tell you're feeling down. Talk to Misa, please?" The blond woman dragged her reluctant boyfriend to a couch.

Here in her gothic apartment, no secret was safer. During one of her frightening lucid moments, she had installed the best security that money could buy–-regular bug checks, sound proofed padding in the walls, and the best alarm system in all of Nerd-dom. She knew very well that if Detective Light decided to talk, he'd be safe.

The teen sighed. "You know I don't talk about the case outside of HQ."

"Pretty please?" She begged, pouting beautifully. "I love you, and love is all about trust."

"Nnn..." He felt guilty every time she said that, though not for the reason she intended. It worked either way, though.

"Fine."

As he chose he words carefully, (_yeah_, like he was just going to burst out into a heartfelt ramble at the drop of a dime. No, no, Raito always thought things through), he spared a second in awe of the way his 'girlfriend's' lacy black outfit exactly matched her morbid, neo-Victorian room. Honestly, what did she do? Color coordinate her closet and couch?

_The woman is insane_, he thought to himself, exasperated.

"If you have to know, things are disappointing lately," He went on aloud, "We have a suspect I'm sure of, and still not a hint of his location. And on top of that, my public is actually _sympathizing_ with a murderer."

"But sweetie," she took no notice of his flinch at the nickname, "You sympathize with him too."

"Misa, it's not that simple!" the investigator rubbed his temples, "_I_ know murder is wrong, even if it's for a good reason._ I_ have my priorities straight. _They _don't."

The two celebrities sat side-by-side in silence for a moment, thoughts spinning like pennies in a museum 'tornado tube'.

"The worst part," Raito mused bitterly, "is that it only takes one really loud lunatic to turn the tide. Take that Mikami guy, for example. If he hadn't started spouting J's 'righteousness' over a fog horn in that smooth lawyer's voice of his, at least half the pro-J fanatics would have stayed quietly out of my way. But no, he babbles on and suddenly every zealot and his gran'ma thinks, 'Oh, someone agrees! Time to go global!'."

The sun was setting outside the wall-length window, pinkish light staining the dim room, throwing shadows against the wide walls. Raito sighed, it was getting late and he had a busy day ahead.

"Well," Misa brightened, pulling off her lacy gloves, "You'll win this anyways, and then everyone will know that you were right!"

"History _is _written by the winners..." conceded the detective, feeling a little better.

"And you always win!" she squealed, throwing her arms around him. "So now, the night is young." The model giggled, gesturing to the rose and lavender sky outside.

"Misa, I know what you're implying and I've _told _you where I stand." a lesser man would have fidgeted with the awkwardness-–then again, a lesser man would have literally jumped at the chance.

Not this one.

"Misa remembers," she pouted again, this time aiming for blatant sex-appeal. "Her Raito is such a gentleman, but really, it's fine. Misa is _asking,_ and all dressed up too!"

The teen noted that she was indeed dressed up in an outfit _so_ skimpy, _so_ lacy, it could put a prostitute to shame.

"Regardless, it doesn't feel right."

Lord almighty, was that the _truth_? It was! And from Raito Yagami, no less. Incredible.

"And it's improper–we've only been dating for a year, and long distance at that," the brunette pointed out, prying her away from his shoulders.

There was something you had to understand about this particular young man before you could even _hope_ to understand his motives:

To begin with, he was raised in an orphanage. And while not a Christian ruler-whacking establishment, per say, he had never really learned much about 'S-E-X' beyond _tab A into slot B_. You can see where he'd be uncomfortable.

Even beyond that point, a hedonistic lifestyle had never been high on his list of thing to try. It just wasn't worth dealing with the women, in his opinion. Oh, a bit of wooing the lady folk here and there? Not a problem. But when it came down to the crunch, this man took three steps out the door.

In an admittedly romantic (Oh how he winced at the word) ideal, Raito simply was not willing to lead someone on like that. If there was no one he was emotionally and mentally attached to, there was no one he was going home with. Period.

And he had _never_ been interested in Misa, not even physically, the way he knew every other man was.

So that was how he found himself rushing through a cliche excuse and barely containing his urge to barrel down the stairs before things got any more uncomfortable.

He only hoped that Misa wouldn't take it personally. The girl was hard to get down, but she had an alcoholic streak...

"No," the fleeing genius reminded himself, "It's not _my _fault I care about more than sex. _I'm_ not one of those idiots with his sorry excuse for a brain stuck in his zipper. If she wants one of them, she should just GET ONE."

As he strode down the street, loafers scraping concrete, he wondered if now might be a good time to call the limo.

"Oh Misa," he sighed, allowing his mild depression to seep through, relatively safe on the empty sidewalk. "If only you were a little more... something else."

--

The morning after, Raito awoke with a sinking sense of deja vu. He flipped open his laptop to check for updates, a feeling of detachment fizzing the edges of his mind.

Resting within the lines of harmless, buzzing memos lay a great spider in waiting, biding its time before the kill. The subject line: **Urgent**.

Click. The beast opened its jaws and revealed its secrets, lines of dates and names and worried preamble. The text blurred together under the detective's tired gaze, swirling around a line at the very center. Unassuming words.

_Nox est nigerimus ante primam Lucem_

_  
_"The night is darkest before the dawn."

--0--

J slid out the door with an alien grace, his terrible posture in no way a hindrance. Cash, a high sum, dangled precariously from a two-fingered grip.

The man was unhurried and seemingly careless, with clothes more ruffled even than usual. They were not only untucked and wrinkled but also almost twisted in places. His hair appeared mussed even by his typical unkempt standard.

A glance at his face, however, or maybe the subtle shift of his weight as a shadow flitted past an open corridor, warned potential onlookers that this look of disorganized chaos was only a front. Any villain preying on the raven-haired shadow would meet an unhappy end, this night.

Papers now tucked loosely into his pocket, the blank expression shifted into one of guarded amusement.

Outside the apartment complex, the sky was unusually clear, a score of silver stars battling valiantly with the dull orange glow of civilization.

"So much taint," he mused flatly. "So much that only the tainted can see it. Irony is indeed a cruel mistress."

Beyond the chain link gate, the city awaited him, ready to wrap its cold arms around him like a demanding lover.

"I would know about those, wouldn't I?" J blanketed himself in monotone amusement.

Glass in tiny fragments coated his path, bare feet paying no head to the wicked onslaught. Why bother? It was just one more detail, on more drop of blood lining those streets.

"On the bright side," he knew better than to believe the streets around him were truly empty, "There is Light, at the end of this tunnel."

--

Three weeks. Three weeks, two days and ten hours, but still not a clue.

And all that was about to change—or so Raito hoped.

"So… Renemoto-san… You say you have information that may interest us?" the detective began, biting back revulsion for the bum in front of him.

Their contact had shown up at head quarters with a newspaper clipping and dirty, faded clothes. With strained politeness, the figure of slovenly poverty had been led to an interviewing room that was properly sparse.

"Man, this is a cold welcome. I come here with the info you been sniffing after for weeks, and this is what I get? You got no hospitality, man." The sloth who had introduced himself as Renemoto lamented.

"Oh, how terribly rude of me," Raito bit out, "Shall I fetch you a white Russian?" If there was one thing that could kill his geniality in a heartbeat, it was men who leached off of society. The mere thought of them launched him into a rampaging tirade at the nearest pitiable by-stander.

"Uh… What?"

"Never mind, classic reference. The point, _sir_, is that you have to either put up or shut up. So what have you got for us?" the tired detective demanded.

"Just a tip. The description you posted? I've seen a match. Shaggy black hair? Pale skin? Foreign sort of look?" The informant listed off, looking incredibly smug.

"That _was_ the description…" acknowledged Detective Light, leaning back in his rigid chair.

"Yeah, I've seen him. So have some other people—but they aren't what you'd call 'police friendly types'. Not to mention, there's the reason they've seen him at all."

Something about his tone wormed its way under Light's skin and crawled into his brain. The teen could feel it: they were getting close.

"And what is that reason?" he asked aloud, betraying no emotion.

"The sneaky prick is running a one man business, and he knows his _clients_ aren't going to rat him out—if they did, the police would be on them both before you can say 'deep black'. You see what I mean?" the man finished, his face screaming '_I know something that you don't'._

"And how do _you_ know about it?" inquired Raito with a raised brow.

"I've seen him on the corner a couple nights, and I know enough to put two and two together. I can give you the address about where he shows up… some nights. It's weird, y'know. I get the feeling he's waiting on something, and it's not a customer."

"I see. Alright Mogi." he glanced over to the one-way mirror, "If you would record the address and details? Even the small ones."

The investigator let his eyes wander over the empty cerulean room, allowing his subconscious to absorb the information as his informant rattled it off. He'd go over it later.

Raito was too self-controlled to display his emotions in front of the team—and this revolting stranger—but regardless; he felt a swell of wild laughter rising within him. This was just too perfect… J was going to get a run for his money.

"Alright," the ne'er-do-well voice snapped him back into reality. "So now that this is all taken care of, where's my cash?"

"What cash?"

"…You gotta be kiddin' me. Information costs, man! Even you oughta know that!" Renemoto was clearly not expecting this turn of events. "You know I can always tip off your suspect."

"There was never any agreement of money," Raito pointed out doggedly, looking rather amused, "But if you insist, I guess I can cover it myself."

The detective pulled out a wad of bills and tossed it at the sloth across from him. His informant snatched up the money and beat a hasty retreat, leaving surprised policemen and one increasingly self-satisfied investigator in his wake.

In the second after his departure, the brunette pulled out a cell phone and pressed one.

"Hello? James?" He glanced up at the ceiling, breaking into a smile, "I need to arrange a robbery. No, nothing serious, just a little pick-pocketing."

--0--

"Romeo, Romeo, deny your father and refuse your name! Oh, be no more a Montague, and I'll no longer be a Capulet."

It was a free afternoon, no photo shoots, no signings, no interviews… pretty boring. Or at least, Misa thought so. In fact, she was reduced to lying on her bed and reciting Shakespeare in Japanese.

"What's in a name?" wondered Misa, rolling onto her back. "A rose would be as sweet by any other name."

She'd been doing this for years and years now. Most of her friends complained about having the latest pop song stuck in their heads, but she'd never had that problem. No, the model found herself playing line on line of her favorite novels and poems…

Particularly this one.

"…Hmm…" She'd forgotten this next line. With a groan, the blond sat up and pulled a worn copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ from her shelf.

Misa Amane had a soft spot for tragic romances and forbidden love, a fondness for those passions that bind the world together. She'd even learned some Middle English in the hopes of reading the original Shakespearian masterpiece. It was a shame that hadn't been enough.

"Ah! 'Romeo, abandon your name, and for that name which is no part of you, take all of me'." she read happily, smiling to herself.

As she read on, the woman thought fondly of her own life. Honestly, she'd always dreamed of a forbidden romance, always believed in love at first sight—in fact, she doubted there was any other kind. True love was something that was just… there. You didn't need to know anything about the person to know that you were meant for them.

It was only sad that her Raito wasn't a bit more like _Romeo_… oh, she loved him with all her heart, but sometimes she felt like they really weren't on the same page.

"If you do love me, say it faithfully—or if you think me too quickly won, I'll frown and lie, if you'll love me then, but never for anything else." Oh, she understood _that_.

With a sigh, Misa sat the book down and went on from memory. Her Raito... Sometimes she felt like he was a million miles away. It was lonely. God, she was so lonely sometimes. There was a part of her that felt cheated--her one true love, she found him... and he was so _far away_. At least Romeo and Juliet had been in the same city, she and Raito were living universes apart.

"In truth, my Montague, I am too fond, and you may think me shallow—But trust me, love, and I'll prove truer than those who have the cunning to be coy."

She glanced down and realized, with a start, that her book was covered in wet splotches. Hesitantly, the model reached upwards and found that her face was wet as well.

Was she crying?

"… Cease our suit and leave me to my grief…"


	7. Betrayed Desires

**Bullet with Butterfly Wings- **'Betrayed Desires'

**Death Note's 'what if' situation.**

**---**

Against the lamp post, a dark figure leant with a slouching grace. Above its bluish glow, the night sky looked empty and infinitely dark, as if all the stars and moon had been drawn into the void.

It was in this shadowy scene that L waited, hands in pockets and eyes trained on the looming, inky sky overhead. He glanced at a spot of shadow and nodded slightly at it, as if they shared a deal forged long ago.

"Days and weeks and years," he recited quietly, "How long until their assassins find me?"

He waited in silence for a time, though if it was a millennia or a minute he couldn't say. Gone were the nightly pretenses, all acting abandoned. This would be the last of these evenings—why bother now?

Maybe he'd never need to again.

Too soon, or not soon enough, a shout shattered his silence.

"L Lawliet! You are under suspicion for the Carving Murder Case!" the voice declared, as a crew of four uniformed men rushed out of the back alley, "Come peacefully and we won't have any problems."

Calm as a winter night, L turned his head to see the leading officer. Their eyes met and the policeman stopped in his tracks. The suspect's knowing orbs, rimmed by dark crescents, were black as the sky above, and far too old for a man not yet twenty-six. They bored into him with a terrifying power, and he knew instantly that they had seen things no man should ever see.

With no warning, L whipped his hands out of his pockets and thrust them at the petrified officer's face.

"Well?" he asked with a vague amusement, "Aren't you going to cuff me?"

--0--

Some people take years to understand Charisma, and that all over again to harness it for their own will. Then there are other men, like Raito Yagami, who are born into it.

Detective Light flashed an angelic smile at the restaurant hostess, a brilliant thing that nearly gave her a heart attack, and was instantaneously lead to the best seat in the house. One which already seated an occupant, and a strange one at that.

"L-san, it's a pleasure to meet you." Raito offered a hand to the table's shadowy occupant. "I am— "

"There's no need for that," the darker man broke in, taking the proffered hand, "I'm fairly certain I know who you are, and I severely doubt you plan to give me anything but a pseudonym."

Raito noted that the older man was sitting in a rather peculiar fashion, knees drawn up to chest. In his head, annoyance warred with respect for anyone who could keep their balance in that position.

The detective withdrew his hand, quickly reevaluating his 'guest'. It was difficult to read the Frenchman's expression, seated as he was in the darkest corner of the room. Raito now had no doubt that the choice in seating had been purposeful.

"Regardless, you may call me Raito," he insisted, taking a seat. A normal Japanese man would never use an acquaintance's first name so soon, but neither of them was properly Japanese.

"And you may call me L, if you like," the suspect replied, practically dripping a flippant attitude. "Though you might want to use 'Ryuzaki', just to be safe."

"Alright," the investigator agreed, raising a brow slightly. "Anyway, there's a reason why you came here."

"You mean, a reason why I was ordered here, Raito-kun," L pointed out, looking mildly amused. "Let's not pretend normalcy."

"Fair enough." The brunette fought down a scowl and glanced at his menu. "In that case, how about I get to the point?"

"Do," answered the pale man, leaning into the light.

Raito had picked a European style restaurant, and an expensive one at that. The kind with chandeliers. Their dim light cast L in stone, it seemed, ebony and ivory carved in the likeness of some tragic hero, a breathtaking balance of beauty and ugliness.

The detective shook his head slightly, berating himself for losing focus. It was unusual for him to be so caught up in the physical… but then, L was an unusual man.

"You, Ryuzaki, are the prime suspect for the Carving Murders Case," he continued, picking up where he'd left off. "Actually, the chances of you being J are high enough for me to consider some serious action."

"More serious than abducting me from my post, you mean," the suspect corrected him once again. It was unsettling, his almost mocking monotone. "I had prior engagements, you know."

"Sorry to ruin your… _plans_," the teen apologized, not sounding apologetic in the least.

"Mmhm. Well, I'm sure you have an excellent reason, Raito-kun," his guest replied, raising his thumb to his lips.

"I'd like to think so. L, I know a lot about you. Yeah, I know, it sounds kind of creepy, but I pride myself on being a thorough man. I know you're intelligent—_you_ know you are, for sure—and I think we can work something out."

Detective Light leaned forward, a wicked shine in his eyes. "I'd like to put you on my team. I pay well, and you can finally put your brilliant mind to good use."

"And the catch?"

"Well, I can't have a suspected man on my team, can I?" Raito beamed. All according to plan.

"And suppose I'm not interested in your generous offer?" droned the criminal.

"Did you know you don't legally exist? You know, one of these days, we'll simply _have_ to do some background checks to get you a new identity."

L eyed him over a badly chewed cuticle. "Touché, Raito-kun."

The tension broke as the waitress sashayed over to take their order. Detective Light rattled off something expensive and fancy then glanced at his companion, who had the desert menu open.

"This one," he pointed to a kind of cake, "and this one."

The server stared at him for a long moment, glancing back at Raito as if to confirm that this pale stranger had indeed escaped from an asylum and was now holding the expensive table and its striking occupant hostage. With an exaggerated eye-roll, she finally trotted off, muttering under her breath about eccentric patrons.

"Dessert for dinner, Ryuzaki?" the younger inquired, amused despite himself.

"Naturally," the older answered, nibbling at his thumb, "Here I find myself at an expensive restaurant with a handsome man, and I intend to have my cake and eat it too."

For Raito's part, sure if he should scowl or chuckle.

"Now why don't you let me in on this magnificent plan of yours," L continued, glancing idly at the room and its haughty occupants. "I would like to prove my innocence, if at all possible."

"Good to hear. My method involves twenty-four hour surveillance, of a sort. I think it'd be pretty useless to put cameras in your home, since I could only monitor you a portion of the time, so things would be hazy at best. It would be better for you to work with me for now—I often work multiple cases at a time—and kill two birds with one stone."

L looked at him with an unreadable expression, relaxed as a jungle cat before the kill. "Handcuffs."

"I'm sorry, what?" Raito's eyes widened despite his best efforts to maintain a poker-face.

"You're going to have to handcuff me." He clarified, "Obviously, you can't watch me one hundred percent of the time unless you have me _with_ you all that time. Physical attachment is the only way of making sure I don't contact anyone. That's your plan, is it not?"

The detective frowned slightly. He hadn't expected L to catch on that quickly, never mind _accept_ the plan so easily. That.... wasn't what he'd expected. He was supposed to give something away under the pressure, not jump at the chance! And how in the world had he predicted it?

"You aren't worried about what my team will think? The details?"

"Raito-kun," the suspect tilted his head curiously, "You have a girlfriend, don't you?"

"What on earth does that have to do with this?" Raito demanded, entirely thrown off.

L gazed up at the chandelier above, tracing its curves and shadows like nothing else in the world existed. "Quite a lot, actually. Nonetheless, _I_ am not worried about it, so unless you have an objection of your own...?"

That was when their food arrived, saving Raito from doing something he might (or might not) regret the next day. He'd never met someone who could get so deep under his skin in so little time, and it was disturbing.

"No," he answered slowly, reigning in his temper. "If you agree, then it'll work fine."

Then, bright as a starburst in the night—and just as surprising—L smiled. Not just smiled, though: he smiled _at Raito_.

And for a moment, the detective forgot where he was.

--

The ride to Light's headquarters was long and awkward, though no one could say they didn't travel in style. People outside their windows stopped, wide-eyed, as Raito's personal limo passed their sidewalks. But within the car, an unexplained sense of doom hung over Raito's head, clashing with his earlier exaltation like polka dots on stripes_._

L sat in his peculiar fashion across the limo, expression unreadable. He had seemed so talkative in the restaurant, but now more resembled the lifeless stone Raito had compared him to earlier.

The sense of doom grew, and the brunette fervently hoped he hadn't accidentally agreed to chain himself to a manic-depressive. As if life wasn't difficult enough…

"Why are we here alone?" L's question came out of the blue, as was becoming his typical pattern.

"You mean," Raito knew exactly what he was alluding to, "Why are we here together with no protection."

"Mhm. I could kill you so easily right now. Or at least, it would appear so."

In spite of himself, the detective let out a laugh. His suspect was smarter than he let on. "I'm not as defenseless as I look. I'm an accomplished martial artist, and I carry at least one knife on my person at all times." No need for him to know that Raito couldn't really _use _it.

"Suppose I could overpower you?" L pressed, slowly regaining his spark.

"In the unlikely course of events ending with my death, my driver would be immediately alerted and stop the car, initiate a lockdown, and kill you himself. And I assure you, he would not be as easily taken care of."

"But what if," the Frenchman argued, eyes bright with suppressed mirth, "My goal wasn't to kill you?"

"Well, I can't imagine how you would escape with me still alive." The investigator blinked.

"Ah, then you misunderstand my intentions, Raito-kun. There are many things I am capable of, that I doubt you would approve." L flicked his eyes over Raito's form.

"Ryuzaki," the Japanese man frowned, uneasy, "is that a confession?"

"Of course not," the suspect countered easily, "Most every man is capable of at least murder—I can feel it in you too. It's strange how so many police and detective seem to possess the most murderous dispositions…"

That inspired a new argument, as the detective forcibly squashed his own unease.

At the risk of sounding superstitious, there was just something about the way his suspect looked at you; it felt like he was unearthing all of your soul with his eyes—dark and light both. Detective Light shook his head.

They talked for a while of justice and how it was influenced by society, about right and wrong and morals. Raito proposed that Japanese morals were truer to human nature than their western counterparts, uninfluenced by religion, while L countered that religion is molded by human nature, and is therefore equally pure.

The closer they drew to headquarters, the less Raito wanted to arrive. When was the last time he'd had an interesting conversation, a conversation _not_ about a case?

Despite his wishes, at last the limo began to slow. He cut off a sentence and rolled down the partition between the driver and their seats, glancing up at the rear-view mirror in silent question.

"We've arrived," the older man noted.

"All right, James. Would you help our guest with transferring whatever extra luggage he has?"

"None," L substituted, once again emotionless. "I have three shirts, two pairs of jeans, an assortment of personal items and a wallet, all in one bag. Your chauffer will not need to assist me."

"One bag?" Light was surprised in spite of himself. He made a 'carry on' motion to James, and turned back. "You traveled across a continent with one bag?"

"I started out with more than that," the suspect corrected him in a drone, "But I soon found that we don't need in life as much as society tells us we do."

The younger man simply shook his head. He never traveled with less than four suitcases, and he would testify to their necessity in court. How a person could survive with only one was a mystery to him… though it did explain L's generally unkempt appearance.

"Right. Then I'll be wherever you need me, sir," the driver answered gravely.

_He acts so _serious_ around my staff_, Raito mused silently, _and I suspect the team is terrified of him_.

The two men climbed out of the limo, Raito offering his 'guest' a hand down. The younger disembarked with a forced grace, the older with a lack of balance he did not bother to hide. Shadows filled the corners of the carport, and L slid into them seamlessly even as Raito anchored himself under the dim light.

"Who is your driver, Raito-kun? I admit, he looks familiar."

Now, the detective was a man of few weaknesses, priding himself on a nearly imperceptible mental armor, but if it had one failing at all, it was that he loved to talk about himself. He blamed it on the tedious anonymity of his job.

"I don't see how he could," Raito lied flawlessly—he did have an _idea_… "He's my personal assistant. I met him a long time ago; he taught me everything I know about fighting and politics—and lying. Not that there's really a difference."

L's strictly uncaring expression softened, and his eyes shone for but a moment as he replied, "Nothing but press coverage."

Illogically, Raito felt pleased.

"Exactly. But now he works for me. Because, truthfully, I have a precious few people that I trust."

The detective opened a door for his suspect, leading them through into a hall.

"I understand," the Frenchman nodded, once again chewing on his thumb.

"You might want to talk to him, actually, since you'll be staying here for a while."

"How long do you think that will be?" L asked, eyeing the checkerboard tiles of the hallway as if they might give way under his feet at any second. "As hospitable as you've been, I would like to go home eventually."

"And where is home for you, Ryuzaki? Here, France, somewhere in between?" Raito prodded, gesturing at another door, which would lead them into the lobby. He really should have come in the front way, but his paranoia would never stand for that kind of carelessness.

"Wherever I make it," the pale man replied mysteriously, pushing open the door with two fingers. "It may be that your headquarters will become just that, in which case I will have to leave it in order return home."

The two of them stepped into the shadowed room, aiming for the elevators across the room. With a sidelong glance at his companion, the detective punched the down button.

"I see," he said, not really seeing at all. "But then, where is it now?"

"Monsieur," L replied in French, "You presume more than your station permits. But," he continued, reverting to Japanese, "don't think I haven't noticed how you avoided my question."

Raito stepped into the elevator, feeling a hint of embarrassment rise up. He was growing far too complacent lately, surrounded by dullards and simpletons who only needed the most basic of redirections. Perhaps this arrangement would be just the thing to whip him back into shape—get him back on his toes.

"Ah, well I'm not entirely sure myself, it could be a while you know. It'll be a bit like a scientific experiment: lots of observation. I'll need your fingerprints and such, by the way, to compare with the crime scenes."

"And what do you think the chances of my guilt are? Percentage-wise," L inquired, looking thoughtfully at Raito.

"Percentage-wise?" the detective felt himself tense a bit. "Maybe… ninety percent. The fact that you're in this country at all is half the case against you."

"Ah," said the suspect. He didn't look disappointed—rather, he looked mildly pleased with the statement. Surprisingly, his ungainly posture straightened a bit.

Raito found himself, for the first time in a long time, confused.

"Anyways," Detective Light continued, pushing a button, "You'll hear plenty about that soon enough. For now, I'd like you to meet my team."

L looked at him with an unreadable expression. "Well," he noted in a monotone, face unchanged, "I suppose that's the end of our lovely dinner date."


	8. And a Piece of the Game

**Bullet with Butterfly Wings- **'And a Piece of the Game'

**What could have been.**

**--**

It wasn't exactly the warmest of welcomes, but not bad either, when you considered the circumstances of their first meeting. Detective Light took control easily, introducing L to all the team and their jobs.

"…And this is Matsuda," he finished, giving the rookie a friendly pat on the shoulder. "He takes care of the day-to-day stuff."

The suspect gave him a careful once-over. "Matsuda, hmm?"

"Y-yes?" the easily intimidated man gulped, taking a tiny step back.

"Matsuda-san is new to the force? This being his first major case…?" L asked him, almost idly, voice contrasting with the hawk-like intensity in his normally dull eyes.

"Um… yeah."

"Ah," the predatory stance evaporated, leaving behind something almost affable in its place. "A shame then, that this is probably the most interesting case you'll take up. Police-work is notoriously boring, when one isn't being shot at. Nevertheless, I'm sure you'll do an admirable job."

Leaning back in his now-customary slouch, the Frenchman stuck out a hand, his features totally unreadable.

Matsuda stared at him in bewilderment for a moment, caught between being offended or mollified. In the end, his good nature won out and a bright smile broke across his face.

"It'll be great to have you here, Ryuzaki," he said, shaking the offered hand, "Especially if it turns out you didn't kill anyone! Two geniuses are better than one, I always say."

L bit down on the nail of his free thumb. "Do you?"

"…No," the policeman admitted. "Not till now."

"Right," Raito broke in, giving his suspect a warning look, "We've got a bit more to cover and it's getting late. James?"

"Coming, sir." The older gentleman entered through an office door, carrying a silver case.

"I thought for a while about how we could make this investigation work best," the Englishman began, "Close supervision was of course necessary, and in the end, I happened to have these from a past case."

At the head of the glossy table, James popped open the case to reveal a pair of long-chained handcuffs resting in black velvet. Around the table, members of the investigation shifted with unease.

"There's six feet of chain between the ends, which will hopefully be enough for our purposes. After two weeks or so, I'll remove the cuffs and continue to monitor Ryuzaki in a slightly more casual way. For now, though, we'll be residing at the new headquarters… I've bought out the building so it sho— "

"RAITOOO! Misa-Misa is here to see her Raito-chan!"

The detective's eyes widened and he took an involuntary step backwards. "Oh no."

The blond blur burst through the hall door, hair whipping out behind her like a kite. Fast as a speeding bullet, Raito dove to the side just in time to escape her crushing embrace.

L, however, was now directly in the line of fire.

"…As pleasant as this is, Misa-san may soon cause me to asphyxiate."

The model let out a shriek and toppled over backwards, glaring up at the odd man who had replaced her love. "Who are _you?_"

"Ryuzaki, charmed to make your acquaintance. And if I may say so, I am quite a fan of your work." the suspect offered a hand up, straightening his posture momentarily to keep from being pulled over. "Your catalogue cover last month was physical poetry."

Like Matsuda moments before, Misa seemed unable to decide whether she was flattered or affronted. Finally, she accepted his hand and bounced to her feet, giggling.

"Your friend, Raito?"

"Not exactly," he replied, bemused (as his time spent with Misa often left him). "Ryuzaki here is actually my prime suspect in the Carving Murder cases. I've brought him into my team so that I can easily compare him with any evidence we find, and our investigation will, of course, benefit from his insight."

"…Why?" the girl asked, eyes flicking over the pale man's faded blue jeans and messy black hair.

"He's something of a genius himself. We haven't had a formal IQ test done, but it must be in the two-hundreds," the investigator explained.

Misa put a black painted nail to her lips, looking wide-eyed at her boyfriend. "That means he's almost as smart as you!"

"Actually," Raito admitted—though grudgingly—"He may in fact be more than me. We don't know."

"Oh, nobody's smarter than my Raito-kun!" she giggled, throwing her arms around him.

The detective was stumped for how to respond to that tastefully. He shot L a glance out the corner of his eye, wondering if the man could _get _any less readable.

"Misa, don't you have somewhere to be?" prodded Raito, slipping gracefully out of her grip. "A movie to shoot?"

It was astounding how well one's memory worked when under pressure. The teen had been desperately attempting to prevent a repeat of last week's fiasco and had been successful so far… but it only took one wrong move to send it tumbling down over his head. Luckily, she didn't seem offended at all.

"Oh my gosh, you're right. I mean, it's like an hour from now, but I promised I'd be there early—it's right down the street from here," she rambled, twisting the cross on her necklace back and forth, "Misa was on her way there when she found you! I could tell because I saw your limo, James always parks it kind of sideways, and…"

_Huh. So _that's_ how she did it. _

"…And yeah, Misa has to go, yep. But she loves her Raito-kun, and she'll see him soon—right?"

"Right," agreed her reluctant boyfriend, straining out a smile.

"Alright!" the blond let go of her necklace and stood on her toes, placing a cute kiss on Raito's cheek. "I love you!"

The young investigator forced himself to maintain the smile, waving slightly as the model bounced into an elevator. With the closing of the shaft doors, all the tension drained out of him.

"Sometimes," he muttered, "I feel like I'm dating a three-year-old."

L shot him a look that said the comment had not gone unheard. Instead of commenting, though, he asked, "However did Raito-kun find himself dating a nominee for the 'Most Beautiful People' award? I'm sure it must be an interesting story."

"Yeah!" Matsuda piped up, "I've been wondering about that too. It's not every day a guy goes out with a supermodel."

Resisting the urge to rub his temples, Raito sighed. "I'd really rather not tell this story…"

"Raito-san," Aizawa said, speaking for the first time since his introduction, "I'd like to hear it too. It's been a bit distracting, actually. I'd like to have a bit of confirmation, if you don't mind."

Well, if Aizawa was getting involved now, then it had to be a substantial issue.

There was a conference room just behind the empty receptionist desks, and the detective supposed they would need to sit down for this story. Sighing once again, he directed them in and took a seat at the head of the table.

"I met Misa-san about a year ago, during the Celebrity Murder case. I was hired by the Hideki family for a price that, at the time, seemed too good to turn down. Narrowing down the suspects had been extremely difficult, as everyone seemed to have a motive…"

--0--

Raito stepped into the room quietly, his entrance drowned by clamoring voices and tipsy shouts. The bright lights stung his eyes, still adjusting from the dark. Shoulders set in a confident disposition; he reminded himself that if one looked like they belonged, no one would ask any questions.

He sauntered over to the refreshment table, reaching for one of the delicate finger sandwiches spread over its surface. A covert glance located his two potential targets conversing near the drinks—he recognized them from an interview one of his informants had printed up for him that morning.

Lines playing over in his head, the detective cornered the male speaker as the two separated, smiling his most charming smile.

"Are the drinks any good?" he asked idly, peering over the man's shoulder.

"Nah," the celebrity answered, shaking his died blond hair. He looked longingly at the quality-bereft table.

"What a shame. Lucky for me, I've got a bottle in the car. I suppose I'll go grab some of that." Detective Light turned on his heel and ambled off at a relaxed pace, counting down in his head.

_3, 2… 1_

"Hold on a second," the blond called after him, "Think you have enough for two? I'll take just about _anything_ after this piss in a cup."

With a slight cringe at the language, the brunette turned and smiled brightly. "Sure. It's a big bottle."

And so they wove their way through the crowds and to the door, the star giving an almost non-stop critique on the best sorts of saké, where to find them, how to drink them and most importantly: who to drink them with.

"…And you can't have that stuff with just your friends. It's got to be real important, I'm-getting-lucky-tonight sort of special. Some 'f your friends might try to convince you to share, but do _not_ listen, man. It's crucial stuff. Hey, is that your car?"

Raito snapped out of his internal checklist, following the man's gesture. "Yes. How'd you know?"

"I've never seen it before, and I pay a lot of attention to cars. Come t' think of it, I've never really seen you before, either."

The celebrity gave him a second look-over, evaluating his companion's stylish glasses and unusual green eyes.

The disguised man shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not an actor, I'm a manager. Nobody notices us until they need something. My name's Kira, by the way."

The fluorescent lights above their heads buzzed loudly, casting a dim purple sheen over the garage. Restoring his cheery smile, Raito gestured to the canary yellow car—a thing he'd barely had the stomach to rent, even for an undercover case.

"I can't imagine what the Hideki manager must be going through," He said, popping open the car door, "He must have an army of reporters at his door… you have to wonder who's paying him now."

"Same person who was always paying him," the blond answered easily, a crafty look coming into his eye. "And it ain't Ryuga, I'll tell you that."

"Oh?" Detective Light made a show of rummaging through his glove box. "Now you have me curious."

Blondie leaned on the car's trunk, tapping the metal with an errant finger. "Well, this is just 'tween you and me, right? 'Cause some investigator's been sniffing around lately and I don't want anyone pissed off at me."

"Of course," the Detective lied.

He pulled the bottle out and uncorked it, offering the star a first sip.

"Okay. So it turns out that the agent was really working for his mom. Hideki _thought_ he was paying the manager, but, well, he was paying too, but she was paying more. _From Hideki's account_. Misa told me that they were having an affair-" he stopped to gulp down the saké, "-and Hideki's dad never found out."

"Was Hideki close to his father?" asked the detective, looking convincingly sympathetic.

"I guess. Maybe. I've never heard anything about him, you know. Me 'n Hideki didn't get along too well. He always had this swelled head about acting in movies, never did like us television actors. Had bad taste in saké, too. Noticed it when we went to his big Christmas party last year."

The green-tinted bottle made a strange sloshing noise as the minor celebrity passed the bottle back, eyeing it hungrily all the while.

"You, on the other hand," he continued, "Have excellent taste. You wouldn't happen to have any wine on you, would you? I've always been a traditional sort of guy, but lately I've taken a liking to some foreign stuff."

"No," Raito answered simply.

That was all that he was going to get out of this man, he was certain. If they'd been in a formal setting, he could have easily wrung out more… but it was imperative that he not blow his cover. Any records of his investigative doings would become more and more of a threat to his safety as he rose up the detective ranks.

And he intended to reach the top.

So instead, he left the bottle with his now tipsy acquaintance and slipped back into the party. After getting no useful information whatsoever from any of his other victims (one who actually hit on him, to his disbelief) he retired to the sullen corners of the room.

A sudden thump sounded on the wall beside him.

"Ryo told me you were asking about the Hideki kid," the newcomer said, "And I thought I should tell you that ain't such a good idea. See, this whole murder thing's tricky business, and if you aren't careful, you'll get mixed up just like Neji did. That'd be a shame."

"Who are you?" Raito asked, straining to see past the man's long bangs.

"Me?" the stranger repeated, "I'm nobody. You, on the other hand, I think you're somebody. Or at least, you know somebody."

"I'm a manager, I know lots of people."

"Not someone in the biz." The dark man smirked, "I know Big Brother is watching, and I think you're his eyes."

"You caught me." Raito rolled his eyes. "And I'm the new years bunny too."

The stranger whirled on the sitting detective and bent level with him. "I know you work for Light. I'm not stupid, and you aren't as smart as you think you are. This is a warning: back off, pretty boy."

And with that, he disappeared into the crowd.

--

"Were you followed?" demanded the butler, without pre-amble.

"No, James, not that I know of. But with a car _this_ visible, people in Russia could see me."

Raito dropped tiredly into a plush chair, patterned with dancing monkeys. Why hotels insisted on buying 'cute' furniture was beyond him, but it was comfortable at least.

"So what did you learn?" James asked, politely this time, withdrawing into a master/servant dynamic.

"Bloody nothing," the detective replied in English, "Or close to it. I verified that Hideki's mother was paying his manager, and there's a rumor of an affair between them… but nothing that would begin to stand in court. The only upside is that I received a threat in person, meaning that I must be on the right track."

"Any suspicions?"

"The manager, of course. And the mother too. My problem with that is that they actually _hired_ me—and I'm a well-known detective. If they simply wanted to decrease suspicion, why didn't they choose a private eye who'd keep his nose out of their business?"

The brunette sighed heavily. Lately, social functions had become less interesting and a lot more tiring. He had no idea why.

There was a knock at the door. James and Raito glanced at each other in silent exchange.

_Were you expecting someone?_

_No. Were you?_

_No._

Hand on the pepper spray in his pocket—simple, but effective—James turned to the door and pulled it inward.

In tumbled a petite blond girl, who lost her balance as the door was pulled away and ended up sprawled on the floor. She looked up at Raito with wide eyes, and he noted that she was actually a woman, not a girl.

"Kira?" She asked, with something in her eyes glowing alien bright.

He _had_ been using that identity lately... at the party too. "Yes?"

"Oh my gosh!" she gushed, bouncing to her feet, "Ryo told me you were looking for me but I wasn't sure you were trustworthy so I watched you for a while—like the whole party—and I just saw your face down with that creepy stalker guy and you were _so_ cool, but I knew he was right because it made sense, you know Ryo told me what you were asking about, and I just knew I had to come help you—I mean it's been my dream to help Detective Light ever since last year when he stopped that terrorist group and here was the perfect opportunity—"

The blond stopped for a few seconds to gulp down some air.

"—Because I just knew you were a good guy, I can tell just by looking at you, so I followed you here—that's a nice car by the way—and I waited outside your door for a while and _now I'm here_!"

The detective stared at her. In that entire monologue, he hadn't heard a single period.

"…Who are you?"

The girl smiled delightedly. "Misa-Misa at your service! I know everything there is to know about the biz, and everybody in it. Misa will be happy to help Detective Light and his team in any way possible."

Raito shared a look with his manservant. Sometimes, good things really do fall from the sky—or through your door. Occasionally both at the same time.

"Alright Misa," he stood and offered a hand, "You can call me Kira. It's true that we're on an assignment for Light, so anything you can tell us will be a great help."

"Yay!" She clapped, then took his hand and pumped it enthusiastically. "Misa will work day and night for you and Light! Oh, but one condition."

The investigator raised an eyebrow. What could a famous actress-slash-model want from him? "What would that be?"

"You," she pointed at him, "Have to be my," she pointed at herself, "Boyfriend!"

Raito had a sinking feeling he might not be able to get out of this one.

--0--

By the time that the famous detective ended his story, the sun was rising outside their conference room's window.

"And I just kept going out with her," he shrugged. "People tell us we make a beautiful couple."

"When did Misa-san find out that Light-kun was actually Detective Light himself?" wondered L aloud, with an expression Raito was beginning to recognize as a smirk.

"Fourth date," he answered smoothly, "She shrieked so loudly that we had to make two tables sign muffler agreements."

Now that Raito thought of it, how _had_ she roped him into all those dates? It wasn't that he was particularly interested in her at all, though he admitted, at this point he would consider Misa a friend… he hadn't then.

Hadn't liked her, certainly hadn't loved her…

Why not?

_Why_ not?


	9. Despite All My Rage

**Bullet With Butterfly Wings**-_ '_Despite All My Rage'

**The investigation Arc has officially come to end! Now we enter the second half.**

_

* * *

_

It was with only half a mind that Raito bid his employees goodnight, and with slightly less than that, he snapped the first handcuff onto his left wrist. He vaguely wondered if he would be forcing L to chain his dominant hand, and then promptly decided that he didn't care.

He held out the empty cuff to his new prisoner—shifting uneasily as his mind picked out the unpleasant word—and stared fiercely out the window. He'd never questioned himself before; in his business, even a slight waver of confidence would get you killed.

In that moment, the detective turned to a dark thought growing in the corners of his mind. It was a cowardly thought, and nothing to be proud of, but at that moment…

He wished he'd never started any of this.

"How do you spell your name, Raito-kun?" L asked idly, fiddling with the cuff sizing.

The investigator raised a brow. "Do you always ask such random questions?"

"Does Raito-kun always keep everything to himself?" The suspect shifted forward into a more challenging stance, handcuff secured.

"Why should I tell people about my personal problems?" Raito leaned forward in response.

"…So Raito-kun is admitting that he has problems?"

"Why are you so interested in my life?"

"If I'm going to watch Raito-kun sleep at night, shouldn't I know what I'm watching?"

"_What_?"

L broke into an actual smile. "Single word answer, disqualified. I would appear to be the victor."

Baffled, Raito blinked uncertainly. Their faces had gotten awfully close together…

"The victor of _what_, Ryuzaki?"

"_Questions_," he answered simply, hopping into a chair—looking uncannily like a very thin frog. "Raito-kun is English, yes? Surely he has played before…."

_Oh_. "Ryuzaki, you can't start a game and not tell the other person! That isn't fair. Of _course_ you'll win if I don't know there's a competition." Really, what kind of cheater did that?

"One should learn to accept defeat gracefully," the Frenchman observed, infuriatingly nonchalant.

"Well," Raito replied through slightly gritted teeth, "I'm nothing if not a sore loser."

"Speaking of which," L began to chew his thumbnail again, perhaps a sign that he was thinking? "These handcuffs aren't _really_ about improving the investigation, are they?"

"You don't believe me?" asked Raito, feeling another game of Questions coming on.

"Raito-kun, I know people," the suspect answered, making unabashed eye contact, "I know how they move, how they think, and more importantly, how they lie. All the things one must know about a man, these are the things he coveys through silence. I don't need to know your answers, all that I need to know is what you _will not_ answer."

_An interesting way of thinking_. Grudgingly, Raito found himself impressed.

"So yes, I did realize that the handcuff suggestion was intended as a psychological ploy from the beginning." L somehow managed to talk and chew at the edge of his nail at the same time. _How_ was anyone's guess.

"Yes, well." Detective Light admitted unhappily, "I'm not backing out now. Unless _you_ want to?"

"Oh no, Raito-kun. I could not possibly hinder the investigation in such a way. Of course, if you are not up to this…"

"I'm fine." The detective smiled acidly. L was fast proving to be the most difficult man he'd ever dealt with, barring James. "This will be the most interesting thing I've done in a while."

_The most frustrating too_, he added silently. He'd read books—when he was younger and not wrapped up in such a demanding career—with people like L. Pity he hadn't taken to time to learn something from them… but then, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition.

"Should I take that as a complement?" the pale man wondered. Something past his reflection in the window must have caught his attention, because his eyes never left a certain spot.

Raito fought the impulse to look.

"You can if you want." the brunet shrugged.

It was entirely silent for a moment, the detective shifting uneasily and unsure of what to say. For all his renowned charm, nothing came into the man's mind—no clever display of wit, no brilliant verbal traps. It was almost as if something about his suspect stripped away all the charisma that so wooed everyone else. He was reduced to playing children's games. And _losing._

It was, needless to say, not something he'd had to deal with before.

And then he snapped. "What are you _looking_ at?"

L's eyes never left that mysterious point past the glass. He simply extended a finger and made a leisurely _come-here_ movement, beckoning his investigator to a better vantage point.

With a defined tension between his shoulders, Raito obeyed. He slipped behind the wooden frame of L's chair and focused on the place past his now pointing finger, struggling for a glimpse of something beyond their reflections.

Cobalt colored sky, black blots of skyscrapers breaking the blue. He looked harder, noticed small shapes on the ground, catching radiance from windows and streetlights. The lights were everywhere, more than he'd ever noticed before…

"Do you see the lights?" L asked quietly, disturbingly in sync.

Raito made a small noise in his throat. There was something mesmerizing about the panorama, and L's voice too. They seemed to fit each other, blues and blacks to match his blacks and whites

"Tonight may be the night," he whispered, seeming to recite, "that the lights go out for good. Tell me, Raito-kun, what would you do?"

"If the world ended? That's a bit melodramatic." the Japanese man took a step back, pulling away from whatever spells his suspect had cast.

"Not really," responded the raven-haired man, emotionless. "I am surprised Raito-kun has never thought about this."

_No_. "Forgive me if I've been a bit preoccupied with my career. You ask some of the most random questions I've ever heard."

"There is power in a question, Raito-kun."

The detective sighed. It was really too late at night for philosophizing, and all he wanted to do was go home. Which he couldn't _do_ on account of the investigation.

He was not happy.

"Look, _Ryuzaki_, it's late and James is waiting in the limo to take us off to HQ. I think it's time we left." The brunet gave the chain a small tug and headed for the door.

With an unreadable look, L climbed out of his chair and followed. They passed through the hallways in total silence, each careful not to disrupt the stillness. Finally, as the elevator door dinged open, he turned to the detective and said, "But Raito-kun never did answer my question about his name."

Raito was not looking forward to the next few weeks.

Not at all.

--

"This is our room." L said. It might have been a question, but his voice had turned so very flat that it was impossible to tell.

Detective Light looked around. Beige walls, average bedroom size, twin beds separated by a small table. Nothing unusual as far as hotel rooms went—which is what it was. The whole building had been a hotel before Light bought it for the investigation.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked hesitantly. In real terms, he didn't give a damn what was wrong. But it pays to be polite, especially if you happen to be attached to the affronted person.

"No, there is nothing _wrong, _Raito-kun. I am simply disappointed that we are not sharing a bed."

The detective squinted at his companion. "Why?"

Hopping a bit, L entered the room, dragging Light behind him. Without looking back, he answered, "This throws a sort of wrench into my plans. Never fear, I shall persevere anyway."

It seemed a good idea not to push that point, so Raito kept his mouth shut. Anything that would get him to sleep sooner.

--0--

Raito tapped away at his keyboard in the recently remodeled convention room. Computers covered the east wall, illuminated by the large window on the west side. When he first purchased the building—on his flight from England to China—he'd decided to keep in his holdings even after completing the case, so he poured the best of the best into the project. In terms of equipment, _and_ interior design.

He was rather happy with the end result. His employees grumbled about the security measures, but that what employees did: they grumbled.

Of course, at that moment, he was the one doing the grumbling.

A call had woken him up from his much sought after sleep in the early morning—five o'clock, an ungodly hour on any day, after falling asleep at one o'clock the same morning. Light went out of his way to maintain an eight-hour a night down time average, to keep his faculties intact. Four hours was not going to cut it.

Sometimes, he wished people would keep in mind that he was only a teenager—a brilliant, incredibly successful teenager, but with a teen's body nonetheless.

Beside him, L's fingers sped across the keyboard like a caffeine-doused spider. Only two fingers on each hand. Who the hell taught him how to type?

"Raito-kun is unhappy with events as they stand?" the suspect inquired, dark-rimmed eyes on the screen.

"No," Raito lied, "things are falling perfectly into place."

"Ah. So there is no frustration at all? Not even, should I say, with sleeping arrangements?"

Eyes narrowed. Light felt himself inches away from dropping all self-control and shouting like a madman that L knew damn well how he was feeling about last night, since L had been watching him the entire fucking night with that skin-crawling stare of his.

_Get a grip._

The detective forced a nonchalant smile that felt like acid on his skin, and simply replied, "A good detective is prepared for a sleepless night."

--

Light's team came strolling in at about eight o'clock, carrying their shoes in their hands. The investigator turned his chair (ugh, what was with that squeaking noise?) And bid them a warm but brief hello.

He was too tired for a long script of acting.

"Matsuda, I want you out with Mogi interviewing potential witnesses. Make sure that you do some talking around Oda Street..." the detective let a hint of a smirk creep into his voice. That was where L had done his rounds. "And report back in tomorrow morning."

Mogi looked slightly annoyed, but Matsuda simply appeared thrilled to be out on the case instead of behind a desk.

For some reason, only God knew why, Raito had a soft spot for Matsuda. A small one. Hidden very well.

"By the way," the detective added, "your time on this investigation is drawing to a close. We have another week or so together before you have to go back to the department. I want this case closed by then."

The team nodded and dispersed, leaving L and Light once again alone.

--

"Do you love anyone, Raito-kun?"

Another question from the blue. And why was Raito's personal business suddenly such a big topic of conversation?

"I don't suppose you mean parents."

"No."

"Not particularly, then." the investigator answered, close to a growl.

"Not even Misa-san?"

"Well, yes, I do love Misa," Light amended, almost hastily. As soon as the words tumbled from is lips, though, he knew that there was not a syllable of truth in the whole sentence.

L's eyes widened innocently, and it was clear that he knew as well as Raito what a lie that had been. With the hints of a smirk about his mouth, he inquired, "Does Light-kun term 'love' with a romantic connotation?"

_Romantic? He knows right well that's what I meant. God dammit,_ Raito seethed_, the bastard is offering me a way out. _

How degrading, handed a gift-wrapped loophole in the midst of an argument--and by your aggressor nonetheless! Well, damned if he was going to accept charity from the likes of L.

"Why _yes_," he simpered, "I love Misa very much! It's so painful that we're always apart, with her in Japanese business and myself all around the world."

The tell-tale lights flickered in L's dark eyes, a sure sign that he was up to something. "Does Misa-San love you just as avidly? I would venture to guess an affirmative, to judge by the way she clung to you last night..."

_Oh, twist the knife, why don't you? _But to his credit, Detective Light's smile never faltered. He didn't even have to lie about this part.

"Misa loves me like crazy. She never stops talking about it! We have to be the perfect couple–everyone tells us so."

The investigator pulled back there, berating himself internally. That was verging on more information than he had to give, and there was no reason to tell L _anything _he didn't have to know. Actually, why was he answering these questions at all? It would serve the creep right, being left in the dark.

Coincidentally, Light himself hated nothing more than being left in the dark.

"Raito-kun is incredibly fortunate," the suspect offered in a grotesque parody of admiration. "I would never be able to forgive myself if I came in between something so rare."

"Yes, well," Light had the sinking feeling that he'd walked into a verbal trap. "It's my job to make sacrifices for the case."

An actual grin. The sight of that expression on his captive stirred up a mess of paranoid butterflies in Light's stomach. Those stupid butterflies...

"Oh, I must insist. We shall have to schedule regular visitations from Miss Amane, preferably a few private meetings without the team in our immediate vicinity... Of course, I will have to be there myself, as we happen to be attached..."

One second of silence too long. What to say? Could he turn it down somehow? No, any refusal would be tantamount to caving. Somehow, this had turned into a game of chicken.

"If you insist," the detective finally agreed, "That's very kind of you, Ryuzaki."

"Think nothing of it," L waved him off.

Crazy effing bastard.

--


End file.
